The Shaman’s Tent
Sinari Village
WAR. YOU MUST LEAD THE SINARI PEOPLE TO WAR.
The words were accompanied by images of death, flickering faster than he could discern any individual scene. He was left only with the impression of mangled bodies lying twisted beneath a gray sky, blood mixing with new-fallen snow.
He sighed, and filled his lungs with a deep-drawn breath. It was meant to center him, to still his mind in preparation to better understand the spirits’ gift. His training demanded he give the spirits’ voice this measure of respect, to try to discern the nature of their sending. He could not do otherwise, even knowing already that he would disregard yet another vision of war, death, and blood.
He expelled the breath as he let go the feelings of hate and rage that stirred along with the images sent by the spirits of things-to-come. A little-known facet of the gift of the Ka, to feel oneself the emotions associated with each vision. The spirits were ill-adept at communicating with men. Where a man might speak his meaning plain, finding simple words to express a sentiment, the spirits sent sights, emotions, thoughts, words, even smells, tastes. A purifying experience each time the weight of a sending crashed into him. It left him humbled, but also wiser for having glimpsed beyond the limits of what it was to be a man. Even at their worst, the visions gave him that much.
He breathed evenly, calming himself until he was satisfied he had divined what he could from this latest onslaught. Precious little. Perhaps a warning against some dire shadow looming over the cold season. If it was a true sending, he would see it again. For now, it was enough to seal it away among the many such visions of its kind, unlikely to be corroborated, or even mentioned in future sendings. Such was the madness of the spirits. It seemed they grasped at any chance to stir him, to drive home whatever grotesque purpose was served by these images of violence and loss. If there was a pattern, or some deeper meaning, it eluded him.
DEATH COMES FOR YOU, KA’VOS. IT APPROACHES.
He sighed. Another torrent of images and feelings. Silently he thanked his mentor for the training that let him weather this madness with stoic grace. As a youth he might have gone mad himself to bear this. As a man, a trained Ka of the Sinari, he carried it with dignity and pride. Of the people of the Sinari, only perhaps Ilek’Inari had any glimmer of what he endured each day. A sending no less horrifying than this might come at any moment, and often did. He would remain strong. It was no small thing he asked of the Ka of other tribes, to live with these horrors and set them aside. But it could be done. The alternative was unthinkable.
A stirring at the entrance to his tent promised a welcome distraction. A kindness perhaps, sent from the untainted spirits even as some twisted few among them showed him their latest madness. He reached down and snuffed the incense burning in a bowl beside him, its smoky fragrance filling his tent. Such implements helped him focus when the visions came.
“Enter,” he called, keeping his voice steady.
The canvas flap of his tent was pushed aside, and Llanara stepped through, her head lowered. Llanara, who wore red where tradition dictated blue. A powerful soul. The spirits had been silent regarding her new gift. He had expected guidance, and received nothing. Another mystery laid at their feet.
“Be welcome, daughter of the Sinari. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
She bowed her head further in a show of respect. “Good morning to you, shaman. May I sit?”
He gestured to an open mat across from his, opposite the fire crackling in the center of his tent. She lowered herself into a cross-legged position, closing her eyes as she inhaled the aroma of the incense mixing with the acrid smoke of the fire. He remained silent, regarding her with a patient expression. Long years of treating with both the spirits and the tribesfolk made plain when one of his people carried a burden. He would let her reveal its nature in due course.
“The air cools,” she said. “It seems the hot season gives way faster than I can recall it having done before.”
He smiled. “It is often so. Yet do not discount the fire spirits—we may think them deeply slumbering, and then be granted days of heat, to remind us of their power.”
She nodded absently, then grew silent once more.
“Why have you come to see me this morning, Llanara?” At that moment another wave of grisly images flashed before his eyes, and he smelled blood near strong enough to make him retch. He offered another silent thanks to his onetime mentor, for the training that let him bear it without an outward sign. This daughter of the tribe needed his guidance, and he would give it no matter how the mad spirits tried to interfere.
“I grow worried,” she said finally. “Worried for Arak’Jur. We have had no word yet from the Ranasi?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. The tidings he carried will be difficult for the Ranasi to bear, as you well know. His presence there will be a comfort, and he will stay as long as he is needed.”
“His journey will lead him beyond Ranasi lands, will it not?”
He felt a surge of fear at that, though he outwardly dissembled, as he had with the spirits’ visions. How much did she know of his and Arak’Jur’s plan, to solicit allies among the other tribes? It was not a thing to speak of in the open, yet perhaps Arak’Jur had taken Llanara into his confidence before he left. She was his woman, after all. Still, his instincts urged caution, and he spoke with care.
“The spirits will guide Arak’Jur through the shamans’ visions. Ka’Hinari carries their favor as surely as I do, and if it is needful for our guardian to journey farther than our neighbor’s lands, such will be revealed to him.”
“Of course, he will act as the visions guide him,” she said. “But I am not alone in my worries. Others have raised their concerns to me, others among the women. The Olessi and the Ranasi have been stripped of their guardians. A dire time for our people, and now Arak’Jur journeys away from our village. If something were to happen to him …”
“I have seen nothing that would betoken danger to our elder guardian, and we still have Ilek’Inari.”
“Yes, honored shaman, I trust it is as you say. But neither the Olessi nor the Ranasi Ka had foreknowledge of the loss of their guardians. And Ilek’Inari is still an apprentice.”
He nodded grimly. “There is wisdom in your words, but this is the course set for Arak’Jur by the spirits.”
“Is it?”
He felt ice grip his heart. She knew.
“What do you mean, Llanara?”
“Ka’Ana’Tyat is closed to us. When Ilek’Inari made his journey he found no opening, no break in the heart of the wood that revealed the entrance for which you bade him search. Only thick-entwined branches closing off every path that might have led farther. The women counseled me to seek the same opening, and I found none. Instead Ilek’Inari found una’re, and I, mareh’et. Two great beasts, and you saw neither.”
“No shaman sees the coming of every beast.”
“This may be so, but these were no ordinary beasts wandering into our land. They guarded the way into Ka’Ana’Tyat, our most sacred place. I say again, Ka’Ana’Tyat is closed to us, Ka’Vos. And with it, I fear we have lost the power of the spirits’ guidance.”
“You speak madness, woman,” he said, trying to put the emphasis of authority into his words, a tremble in his voice betraying his intent as he spoke.
“The spirits demand you lead us to war. Why do you hide it?”
“What?” He inhaled sharply. “How can you know this?” His mind raced. Llanara practiced her strange new magic, brought by the fair-skin Reyne d’Agarre—it was already taboo to mention it, claimed as it was by the women—but perhaps it let her speak with the spirits of things-to-come. A forbidden thing. His face darkened.
“Your new gift.” He nearly spat the word, answering his own question.
“Yes. It is written in the Codex, and Vekis …” She trailed off, tilting her head as if she listened to some unseen spirit. “It appears Vekis will speak for himself.”
A crystalline, four-legged serpent appeared on the floor of his tent, scaled coils looped beside the fire. Ka’Vos started, scrambling to his feet.
“What is—?”
You have led your people astray, shaman. The voice crashed into his head with a force that left him stunned, as much for its intensity as for speaking the words he had dreaded to hear.
“No,” he pleaded in a whisper, sinking back to his knees. “I have only tried to protect this tribe.”
Your spirits demand war, and if you will not give it, you must die.
His eyes widened. Before he could speak again, Llanara rose to her feet in a blurred motion, faster than should have been possible. Another plea formed on his lips, and died there as she struck.
The world went black.